


Awakening Ghosts

by JantoJones



Series: The Brothers Kuryakin [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger arrives claiming to be from Illya's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to running unusually late, Illya was distracted as he left his apartment, so did not see the young man until he ran headlong into him.

"I'm sorry...," he started to say, but faltered when he got a good look at the man.

He was younger than Illya, but had the same blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Izvinite, vy Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin?" _(Excuse me, are you Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin)_

"Da," Illya replied, his suspicious nature kicking in. "Ya Illya Nickovitch." _(Yes, I'm Illya Nickovitch.)_

"Nakonets-to!" the stranger exclaimed, with a relieved smile on his familiar face. "Ya Alexey Nickovitch Kuryakin. Ya tvoy brat." _(Finally! I'm Alexey Nickovitch Kuryakin. I'm your brother.)_

Illya's mind almost shut down. It simply wasn't possible for the younger man to be his brother.

"Chto za shutka?" he asked. _(Is this a joke?)_

"Nyet," the man claiming to be Alexey asserted. "Eto pravda." _(No. It's the truth)_

Illya held the stranger with an icy glare while he tried to formulate a reply. Failing to come up with anything, which was unusual for him, he settled for punching the man hard in the face. He then turned on his heel and stormed back into his building.

Half an hour later, Napoleon Solo arrived at his partner's apartment following a mysterious summons. The Russian had sounded quite distraught. Given that Illya rarely let his emotions get the better of him, Napoleon knew something serious was going on. As he walked up to the main doors, he was struck by how much a man leaning against the wall looked like Illya. The fact he was nursing a bloody nose gave Solo some inkling that the man and Illya's summons were linked.

With the key his partner had entrusted to him, Napoleon let himself into the building and Illya's apartment. He found the Russian pacing the main living area in a very agitated state.

"Did you see him?" He demanded of the American.

"If you mean the bleeding man who looks like you, then yes. Who is he?"

"Do you remember I told you about my brother Alexey?" He asked, continuing to pace.

Napoleon did remember. It had been one of the few times Illya had talked about his childhood

"He died of influenza when he was two. You were about six at the time."

"That's right," Illya confirmed. "The man outside claims to be him."

Napoleon placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder and guided him to sit down. To his immense shock, Illya was trembling. Whether it was through anger or fear, Solo didn't know.

"I really don't want to ask this Tovarisch," he began hesitantly. "But, are you certain Alexey died. You were very young."

Illya was immediately back on his feet.

"Of course I'm certain," he yelled. "I may not have been old enough to understand, but I remember the funeral and my parent's grief."

"Okay, okay," Napoleon placated. "I'm just trying to cover the basics. How do you want to play this?"

"I want to kill this man for stirring up ghosts."

"How about I just bring him up here and we can take it from there."

Illya gave the senior agent a curt nod of assent.

"Okay, you just continue wearing a groove in your floor and I'll go fetch him."

********************************************

Out on the pavement, Napoleon found the man still leaning against the wall. It really was uncanny how much he resembled Illya. They were even similar in height. Solo, however, was never one to take anything at face value. He knew THRUSH were very adept at plastic surgery and lifelike masks and, if this was a plot to snare his partner, it was a very cruel one. Of course, the man could very well be who he said he was, but it was up to him to prove it.

"Mr … er … Kuryakin?"

"Da." (yes)

"Vy govorite po-angliyski?" _(Do you speak English?)_ Napoleon could understand basic Russian, but he doubted he'd be able to keep up with an in-depth discussion between two native speakers.

"Yes, I do," the stranger replied. "Should I know you?"

"I'm Napoleon Solo," the America informed him. "I work with and am a friend of Illya. Apparently you're his brother, his dead brother."

"Illya is my older brother, and I can explain everything, if he'll let me."

Napoleon told him Illya was waiting for him upstairs and was ready to listen. He also asked him to keep using English for his benefit.

"But be warned Mr Kuryakin, Illya doesn't take well to being played."

***********************************************************

Illya was still pacing when the two men entered the apartment. Apart from a quick glance to acknowledge his presence, Illya kept his eyes turned away from Alexey.

"Illyusha…" Alexey started to say, but was cut off by Illya.

"Don't call me that!" The older Russian snapped, without looking at the man. "Even if you do turn out to be my brother, you don't have the right to address me that way."

"You want me to call you Illya Nickovitch? Isn't that a little too formal?"

"Illya will be fine, and until I can prove otherwise, I shall address you as Alexey. Don't ever expect me to call you Alyosha."

From a chair in the corner, Napoleon watched everything as it played out. To anyone who wasn't aware of Russian culture, the whole conversation about names would have seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere. Solo knew differently. He was well aware of how important it was to distinguish between formal, informal and familiar forms of address. Illya was laying down the rules early. He was warning the younger man that he would not be getting too close, too quickly.

"So tell me who you really are Alexey," Illya demanded, still refusing to face the other man. "My brother died, a long time ago."

"I didn't die." Alexey said, as softly he could. "I was the fourth child. Mama and Papa simply couldn't afford to take care of me, so I was given to a childless couple several miles away. My adoptive mother told me shortly before she died. I set about looking for my birth parents, my sisters and my brother. Unfortunately, I found that you are the only one left. There is no-one living who can verify the truth."

Illya finally turned to look at his 'brother'. The look in his eyes could have frozen the core of the sun

"I will investigate this myself," he announced. "Napoleon, I shall need to take some leave."

"Not a problem Tovarisch," Solo said, with a warm smile. "With your permission, I'll tell Mr Waverly what is happening and I shall take some leave with you."

"Napoleon, I cannot ask you to…"

"You don't need to ask Chum. You've done it for me often enough. It's time to repay the favour."

Illya allowed a small smile to pass over his lips. It was gone by the time he turned back to Alexey.

"Imey v vidu, yesli ty lzhesh' - ya tebya ub'yu." _(Keep in mind, if you're lying, I'll kill you)_


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon excused himself to the kitchen in order to apprise Mr Waverly of the unfolding events. He left a horribly heavy atmosphere between the two Kuryakins. Illya had positioned himself near the window with his arms folded defensively across his chest, and his glare was fixed on the possible imposter. Not a word was exchanged between them until Napoleon return five minutes later.

"Erm…. Would you join me in the kitchen please Illya?"

The younger agent followed his partner, making sure to keep Alexey in his eye line at all times.

"What did Mr Waverly say?"

"Ok, the good news is, we're not on leave." Napoleon informed him. "The Old Man thinks there could be a possible THRUSH element at work here. Therefore, checking out Alexey's story is officially a mission. That means we also have full access to U.N.C.L.E. resources."

"His instincts are rarely wrong." Illya conceded. "What is the bad news?"

Napoleon took a deep breath, knowing his next statement was not going to go down well.

"He's forbidding you from entering Russia, Tovarisch," he told him, with regret. He knew how much Illya missed his homeland. "Waverly thinks it would just open up a host of additional problems."

"How am I supposed to learn anything from here?"

"He's sending Mark Slate."

Illya weighed up the options. He briefly considered disregarding the order, but realised the Old Man was probably right. When Illya had arrived at U.N.C.L.E. New York, his government had allowed it on the understanding he would spy on his American hosts. They hadn't, however, reckoned on Illya's loyalty to U.N.C.L.E. After living in Paris and London, the young agent had learned a little of what personal freedom meant, and he'd liked it. As much as he missed Mother Russia, he knew he was unlikely to return there permanently. As for the current situation, it would definitely be too dangerous for him to go back.

"I suppose Mark is the next best person to me" Illya decided eventually. "At least Mr Waverly has the sense not to send an American."

He smiled slightly at the look of false indignation on his partner's face. They both knew sending a Brit to Russia was a danger, but sending an American would be plain stupid.

"So what do we do while Mark is doing the donkey work?"

"Waverly is arranging for a safe house and guards for Alexey to stay in until Mark comes up with answers. We have to contact him with the name Alexey was known by in Russia, then we are to trace his movements here. "

Illya nodded his agreement. He could easily have gone off on his own to discover the truth, but he had to admit; it would be easier and safer to have Napoleon, Mark and Mr Waverly behind him.

"Napoleon, there is one thing which puzzles me."

"Just one?" Solo asked, knowing full well the whole thing was somewhat of a mystery.

"I'll be able to get answers for everything else," Illya replied, his voice so quiet that Napoleon had to lean forward to hear him. "What really puzzles me is, if the man in there is Alexey, why did my parents hold a funeral? I remember it clearly. There was even a coffin."

Solo placed a hand on Illya's shoulder.

"That was probably their way of dealing with giving him away," he said softly. "For all intents and purposes, they were losing a child. Maybe it was easier to imagine him dead. It could also have been for the benefit of you and your sisters. Or even the village. They may not have told them the truth of what they were doing."

Illya had to agree. Even though it was a very common thing to do, giving away or even selling a child was still frowned upon. If everyone thought Alexey to be dead, it would have made things easier for everyone. The Russian briefly returned Napoleon's supportive gesture before going back to Alexey.

"What name were you given by your adoptive parents?" Illya demanded of the younger man.

"They kept Alexey, because I was at an age when I was saying it myself," he replied. "My full name is Alexey Sergeyevich Ivanov."

*****************************************************************

It was two days before they heard back from Mark. While they waited, the agents had confirmed that Alexey had been in the country all of three days before approaching Illya. What they couldn't find out, was how he knew where Illya lived. The younger Russian seemed reluctant to tell them. The two agents were at the safe house, taking their turn at guard duty, when Mark contacted them.

"Alright Mate," he greeted cheerily. "Have I got some very interesting information for you."

"Just tell me Mark!" Illya snapped. He was in no mood for guessing games.

"He is most definitely your brother," the Brit announced. "Do you know a really old woman called… er … Galina Vasilyevna Petrova?"

"Y..yes," Illya stuttered. His mind and heart were racing at the news he wasn't the last Kuryakin. "She was my Babushka's, sorry, my Grandmother's cousin."

"She arranged Alexey's adoption." Mark continued. "It was all highly illegal of course, but she made sure he went to a couple who were unable to have children of their own. There is something else you need to know. Alexey isn't the only person who has been looking for you in your village."

Illya wasn't surprised. He was and would continue to be a person of interest for his government. He had no doubt there were probably regular checks in the village to see if he had made contact with anyone.

"KGB or GRU?" He asked.

"Neither. Apparently, they were foreign."

"Okay Mark, thanks."

Illya cut communications and turned to his partner, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Napoleon shrugged.

"If they're not yours it must be either ours or THRUSH."

"Good guess Mr Solo."

Illya and Napoleon span around to face the new voice in the room. They found themselves staring down the barrels of three THRUSH rifles. A fourth man stepped out from behind the gunmen and put his arm across Alexey's shoulder.

"Young Mr Ivanov here, or should I say, Kuryakin, accepted our assistance to help him find the revenge he seems to need so dearly."

"Alexey?" Illya asked, stunned at the sudden turn of events. He'd only just discovered his brother was alive and now that very same brother seemed to be working with his enemies.

"I'm sorry Illyusha," the younger man replied, without a trace of remorse. "But as the last member of my birth family, you bear the responsibility for my abandonment. Do you know how it feels to learn you'd simply been tossed aside?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and walked out of the house. The unarmed THRUSH man waggled a finger at Illya.

"If you would please come with us Mr Kuryakin."

Napoleon stepped forward, reaching for his weapon. Before he even had a hand on it, a bullet slammed into his shoulder and dropped him to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but was knocked senseless by a well-placed rifle butt. Knowing he was out of options, Illya carefully extracted his own weapon and laid it on the coffee table. He took one last glance at his prone partner before being led out to a waiting vehicle.


	3. Chapter 3

Woken by the immense pain in his shoulder, it took Napoleon a few seconds to bring the cause of it to mind. Eventually, he remembered Illya and Alexey and THRUSH. He struggled to his feet and took a quick glance around the house. There was clearly no-one else in the building, but Napoleon was heartened to note that they only blood he found was his own. Finding Illya's gun, however, only served to heighten Napoleon's sense of dread. Spurring himself into action, he contacted HQ and asked for them to try and trace Illya's personal locator beacon. The Russian would need to have activated it for it to be picked up, but Solo always tried to live in hope.

"We'll get right on it Mr Solo," Mr Waverly told him, his irritation evident in his voice. "I shall expect you back here shortly."

"Thank you Sir," Napoleon replied contritely. "I just have one little request if you don't mind."

Mr Waverly tapped his pipe on the desk with frustration as Solo explained about the bullet in his shoulder. He knew that Kuryakin and Solo weren't incompetent, their record proved that beyond any doubt. Every so often though, the pair managed to mess up so utterly, Waverly wondered if they'd been replaced by new recruits.

"Stay where you are Mr Solo, a medic will be along presently."

Putting his communicator away, Napoleon sat down a little too heavily. He was dizzy and weak from blood loss and worry. What really concerned him was, should they manage to find Illya alive, how was the Russian going to deal with his newly discovered brother betraying him?

********************************************************************

Illya Kuryakin was experiencing a great deal of physical pain. He was hanging by the wrists with his ankles chained to the floor. His captor was well aware of his ability to swing himself up and release his hands, so had made sure to prevent this. For a full fifteen minutes, Illya was mercilessly beaten by three THRUSH goons. Throughout the ordeal, he endeavoured to keep is eyes locked on his brother. Alexey's facial expression remained impassive as he watched the torment. Inside his head, however, the younger Russian was in turmoil.

When his mother had told him he wasn't her son, he'd been devastated. Alexey loved his parents, and was grateful that they'd wanted him, but this of course, meant that his natural parents hadn't wanted him. His mother had tried to explain that they had simply been trying to do what was best for him, but Alexey couldn't accept that. Following his mother's death, he'd set out to look for the people who had rejected him. The discovery that all, apart from his brother, were dead had been a blow. Alexey had worked himself up into a state of vengeance and decided that all of his rage and hate would be concentrated on Illya Nickovitch. It didn't matter to him that, at six years of age, Illya couldn't possibly be held accountable.

He thought his search had been prematurely ended when he learned Illya was living in America. Alexey simply didn't have the means or ability to travel there himself. That was when he'd been approached by a man named Milton Fairweather, who said he was from an organisation called THRUSH. Alexey had never heard of it. The man explained he was looking to dig up any information on Illya Kuryakin in order to discredit him with the American authorities. Unfortunately, it turned out his background was so deeply hidden it was practically non-existent. They were going to have to fall back on the old capture-torture-kill plan. Alexey told Fairweather he would like to see Illya suffer. He needed him to atone for the sins of his parents.

Ordinarily, Milton Fairweather would have dismissed Alexey's request, but Kuryakin had been a pain in his backside for a long time. Presenting him with a long lost brother, who wanted to see him tortured, was a delicious little cruelty he couldn't pass up. So, he'd brought the Russian to America and told him where his brother could be found. Fairweather allowed time for Kuryakin to verify Alexey's identity. The younger man was given a locator beacon and a device to send a signal as soon as Illya knew the truth. He was informed that Fairweather would be waiting nearby. Alexey followed his instructions to the letter, looking forward to seeing the remaining member of the family who rejected him suffer.

Sitting in the corner of the room, watching as his brother was beaten black and blue, Alexey found himself regretting the actions he's taken. The revelation shocked him somewhat. He'd been so intent on finding his vengeance; he hadn't given any consideration to how it would feel to actually meet Illya in the flesh. His convictions had started to waver when he'd seen Illya's reaction to being told he had a living relative. He'd realised then, that the man was also his only living relative, but he'd come too far along the path to turn back. Having seen what would only be the beginning of the torture, Alexey realised he wouldn't be allowed to back out now.

Fairweather entered the room and ordered the beating to stop. Alexey had to try hard not to breath an audible sigh of relief.

"I do hope you're comfortable Mr Kuryakin."

Illya could help but roll his eyes. Did THRUSH have a training manual for cheesy interrogation dialogue?

"I have been held captive in better places," he replied, affecting his most bored voice.

"I'm sorry you're not enjoying your stay, but I'm afraid it will be getting much more uncomfortable." Fairweather growled, through gritted teeth. He'd forgotten how infuriating the Russian could be. "I intend to kill you this time, right after I've extracted all of your secrets."

"I wish you luck in that endeavour."

"You won't be so smug shortly Mr Kuryakin," his captor crowed. "For the moment though, I shall leave you with your brother. I'm sure you have some things to discuss. Don't get to excited though, I shall be leaving a guard in the room and he understands Russian."

Fairweather and two of the goons left, leaving the brothers to stare at each other. Alexey eventually broke the silence.

"I was wrong," he confessed. "I still can't forgive our parents, but you are innocent. You were just a child yourself."

"I do understand," Illya told him. "I feel deceived myself. I grew up thinking you were dead."

"I'm sorry I got you into this."

Illya laughed, surprising Alexey.

"I would probably have ended up here whether you were involved or not. Fairweather and I have a history. Would you do me a favour Alexey?"

"Of course."

"Undo my belt buckle please," Illya requested. "It is digging into a particularly painful bruise."

Confused, Alexey looked to the guard for permission. Receiving a nod of approval, he did as he was asked. Illya's torso was probably one giant bruise and he wouldn't be surprised if there were some damaged ribs. He couldn't begin to guess at why his buckle would be such a problem. As soon as he was close to Illya, the older man managed to whisper for Alexey to turn the rim of his fly button 360 degrees. Alexey was still further confused, but assumed it served a purpose. Once his task was done, he stepped away from Illya. His brother gave him a wink which caused his guilt to resurface. How could he be so friendly to the man who'd wanted him tortured? He had to find a way to get them both out. How he was going to achieve this, Alexey didn't know. What he did know, was that despite everything, he had a brother and he would do what it took to earn his forgiveness.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMF

At U.N.C.L.E. HQ, Melanie James ran into medical, where Napoleon was resting following a procedure to remove the bullet from his shoulder. The doctor was pleased to tell him that it was a fairly simple wound which would heal quickly.

"Mr Solo?" Melanie panted, waking Napoleon from his doze. "Mr Kuryakin's locator has been activated."

Napoleon was immediately on alert. The nurse tried to stop him from leaving, but she didn't stand a chance. Illya Kuryakin was going to be found, and he was going to be there when he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Illya Kuryakin was well practiced at enduring torture, but that never made it any easier. He'd been taken down from his hanging position and was now on his knees; his ankles still chained and his wrists shackled to the floor in front of him. Illya was aware that Fairweather was questioning him about U.N.C.L.E. but his attention was aimed squarely at Alexey. The younger man seemed to be a state of distress. Illya tried to convey through thought alone that everything was going to work out fine. If only he could get himself to believe it first.

The Russian shuddered involuntarily as his jacket and shirt were cut from him. Fairweather ran his fingers over his captives back; tracing the old scars and new bruises.

"You've been whipped many times before," he observed. "Which, given how irritating you can be, is hardly surprising."

The THRUSH man snapped his fingers at the guard, who handed him a vicious looking cat o' nine tails. Illya's thoughts immediately leapt to the last time he'd been punished this way. Mother Fear had used a strop rather than a cat, but the scenario was still too familiar for the agent's liking. *

Alexey was horrified. At the safe house, he'd been told a little of what Illya did by way of an explanation for the house and the guards. He could never have guessed at what his brother may have endured in his line of work. Seeing the scars only served to fuel the guilt Alexey was feeling at having brought this torment on Illya. He'd been blinded by a hate which had consumed his ability to rationalise. The young Russian winced as the first strike landed on Illya's back. The grunt of pain his brother emitted stabbed at his heart.

As more blows struck his already damaged flesh, the older Kuryakin took note of the pain in the younger's expression. He could clearly read the confused turmoil and dearly hoped that Alexey stayed still and quiet. The last thing the situation needed was a guilt-ridden man seeking redemption.

"Now that we've got you warmed up Mr Kuryakin," said Fairweather, cheerfully. "Allow me to tell you what I want to know."

"Let me stop you there," Illya hissed, trying to ignore the fire in his back. "I will die before I tell you anything."

"We shall see."

Illya braced himself for the next onslaught, knowing it would be worse this time. He couldn't prevent himself from crying out as the cat bit again and again. Alexey knew he couldn't allow it to continue. From the tone of his voice, he was left in no doubt that Illya would succumb to death before revealing any of the secrets he was privy to. Alexey's main problem was that he was outnumbered. If he charged at the guard, Fairweather would stop him and vice versa. He needed to be sneaky.

Standing up slowly, Alexey adopted an air of amused interest; attempting to make the THRUSH man think he was enjoying the spectacle. It took all of his willpower to move slowly towards the guard rather than hurry at him. Despite his thoughts being scrambled by the endorphins flooding his system, Illya saw what his brother was about to do and, almost unnoticeably, shook his head. Alexey however, ignored the silent plea. Seizing his chance, he grabbed the rifle from the guard and trained it on Fairweather.

"Stop!"

"My, my," Fairweather practically sneered. "So the wronged brother has suddenly developed a sense of familial loyalty. You don't have the courage."

The blood froze in Alexey's veins as he realised the truth of the words. He hadn't really thought past grabbing the gun. Back home, he was an archivist and had very little need to have a weapon. He had been instructed how to use many guns when he'd served in the army, but he hadn't seen active service so his limited skills waned. It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn't fire at Fairweather because the man was far too close to Illya. He turned the gun on the guard.

"Let Illya go, or I'll kill your man."

"Go ahead," Fairweather said with a wave of his hand. "There are plenty more where he came from."

Alexey couldn't believe the coldness in the man's voice, or the fact the guard didn't react. He turned the gun back at Fairweather, which gave the guard the opportunity to pounce. He snatched the rifle back, swung it up and smashed Alexey in the face. The young Russian dropped to the floor clutching his broken nose. As the guard readied himself to fire at Alexey, Fairweather stopped him. He grabbed the younger man by the hair and pulled him up onto his knees.

"I have a proposition for you Mr Kuryakin," he said to Illya, with a dangerous smile on his lips. "You tell me the information I need and I won't kill your brother."

Before Illya could say anything, all hell broke loose. The room was filled with U.N.C.L.E. agents, who easily overpowered Fairweather and the guard. They were followed by Napoleon Solo, who was failing to hide his disgust at the state of Illya's torso.

"You're late again Solo," the Russian admonished, without any real conviction.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry my little injury held me up," countered Napoleon, with just as little malice. "We'll soon have you out of here Tovarisch."

He ordered for someone to release Illya from the chains. Ordinarily, he'd have done it himself, but with his arm in a sling he was next to useless in that regard. Once free, Illya crawled over to Alexey, who was still kneeling and holding his nose. He looked his older brother directly in the eye.

"Prosti menya." _(Forgive me.)_

The stresses of the last few weeks suddenly caught up with Alexey. He felt unconsciousness calling to him and was powerless to resist. Illya caught him as he fell, totally disregarding his own injuries.

*************************************************************

It was a further two days before Alexey came back to wakefulness. He panicked briefly at the unfamiliar surroundings until his gaze settled on the sight of his brother. Illya was perching on the front edge of a plastic chair, obviously trying to protect his tortured back, and was playing chess with the man called Napoleon.

"Illyusha?" He whispered.

The two men smiled.

"Welcome back," Napoleon greeted him, "You're a lot less trouble for medical than your brother."

"Where are we?"

"This," Illya began, gesturing to the room and the building in general. "Is the medical section of the New York headquarters for the United Network Command for law and Enforcement."

"U.N.C.L.E." Napoleon supplied, helpfully. "We work here."

"What is U.N.C.L.E?"

Between them, Illya and Napoleon explained the nature of their organisation, without giving anything sensitive away.

"Can you forgive me for what I brought on you?" Alexey asked. "I was so very wrong about you."

"There is nothing to forgive Alyosha." Illya assured him. "We both have some issues to work out in respect of our parents, but I understand your motives entirely."

"Thank you," Alexey replied, smiling at Illya's use of the diminutive form of his name. "I can't wait to tell my baby son how his Uncle Illya is making the world safe for him."

The grin which appeared on Illya's face could have lit up a stadium. A week ago he'd been the last member of his family and now he had a brother, a sister-in-law and a nephew.

"What's his name?" Napoleon asked, overjoyed at seeing Illya so happy.

"Pyotr Alexeyevich Ivanov. I was brought up as an Ivanov so that is the name I will continue to go by. However, in my heart, I will also be a Kuryakin brother."

The conversation seemed to drain Alexey of his reserves, causing him to drift back to sleep.

"Come on Uncle Illya," Napoleon coaxed. "You haven't eaten for almost four hours, you must be ravenous."

The Russian ignored the comment and followed his partner to the commissary. The grin remained on his face for the rest of the day.


End file.
